A classic sampling of journalese in “A Dictionary of Usage and Style,” Copyright 1964 by Roy H. Copperud. With a funny and insightful introduction by J.R. Wiggins, then Editor of The Washington Post.
For god’s sake, write like people talk.
No one ever got slain in my stories, even by a slayer. They might have been shot, stabbed, beaten, strangled, killed or even homicided to death, but they were never, ever slain.
You want people to read or listen to your stories? Get rid of journalese, the stilted, fat-laden language that makes too much news reporting indecipherable. Any version of slay, slain and slayer tops my list, but there are a million examples. Eschew, I mean, avoid, them all.
As Copperud pointed out in his classic stylebook, most journalese probably started as attempts at fresh and lively prose, er, writing. But a bouquet of flowers, or a garden, provide a riot of color only once per writer.
Too much of the language used in journalism is breathless from overuse, meaning it’s dead.
Does that empty store or factory have shutters? No. Then it is not shuttered. It is closed, vacant, abandoned or no longer in business. Anything but shuttered.
Shuttered makes me shudder and eschew makes me hoo. They are among my longstanding hates. They are Top 3 along with slain. They top the list, and also head it as well, in addition.
Have you ever ascertained anything? No, of course not. You found it out.
Did that person in your story witness something? Or did they see it?
Local officials don’t confab, aren’t tight-lipped or mum and don’t ever cast nets, wide or otherwise. Authorities neither.
Hardly any looming catastrophe, revealed report or lurid new development rocks, blasts, underscores, undermines, threatens to or calls into question. It’s news. You find out what the news is — best as you can in a hurry — and tell it. People in your stories should be allowed to acknowledge — a good word — that they don’t know jack shit yet. Don’t report the process and the reaction and the outrage without acknowledging — see? — that some of it may be bullshit. Report the news in a clear manner.
And use plain language.
No entity ever had budget woes. Funding shortfalls often turn out to mean there isn’t enough money. Usually tax money, occasionally revenue. Expenditures is a terrible word.
Traffic mishaps are usually accidents, collisions or crashes, unless they’re fatal, then they might be deadly, maybe. Law enforcement officers responding to the scene of the altercation don’t activate their emergency indicator lights and engage in high-speed pursuits before apprehending suspects — I mean, taking persons of interest into custody — after intensive manhunts. More likely, cops or deputies or troopers turn on their lights and sirens and chase people until they catch them.
Hosts used to be genial but now they are gregarious at most. Gracious, but only if you have an example at hand. “Smith helped the inebriated guest, er, drunken man, to his feet.”
No one ever dons anything. Uniforms, protective gear, disguises, festive headgear or even hats — none of it is ever donned. Whatever it is, make the people in your stories just put it on.
Snow isn’t white stuff unless you’re trying to be ironic. Rain might fall, but it rarely shrouds anything, dampens spirits, or quenches blazes. Mist is always gentle, so skip the descriptor. I suppose there are showers and downpours, but a heavy rain will usually do the trick.
People don’t prepare meals, dispense beverages or consume anything. They cook food and pour drinks. They eat and drink, sometimes they sip coffee or wine. They never imbibe, dine, or feast on delicacies.
A fire is still a fire, not an inferno, not a conflagration and only on fifth reference a blaze. Then it goes back to being a fire.
Fires don’t consume things. They burn them. And firefighters or arson investigators sifted through rubble once, a long time ago. Now they poke around in ashes or examine burned boards, but not charred ones. Nobody will ever determine the cause of the conflagration, but maybe they will figure out how the fire started.
Flames used to lick at structures or dance in the darkness and get fully involved, but someone told them to knock it off. Probably emergency service personnel who responded to the scene. I mean firefighters.
Only a few things are expansive or diminutive or soaring. Usually they are big or small or tall. Buildings, anyway. Structures are another matter, especially houses or apartments that are residences. Rural outbuildings might be sheds or barns or equipment shops.
In sports, I suppose comebacks can be stirring or frenzied, but not every time. But no fleet-footed elusive running back ever gashed anyone’s defensive scheme, especially one manned by defensive stalwarts. Good thing all the players have good physicality! Now if only they can ink a pact.
Most southpaws are lefthanders, but they aren’t necessarily crafty. Hoopsters don’t crash to the hardwood, especially while weaving through a thicket of defenders on their way to the bucket. Usually they just get fouled, or hacked, but don’t earn a trip to the charity stripe.
Dogs aren’t canine companions, or hounds, especially faithful ones. Cats are always just cats. And you got the name of each pet in the story, right?
Now go forth and advance, and so on.
Excellent advice!